between the edge and the falling
by conventionalfallacy
Summary: Elena's not quite sure what draws them together but she doesn't think she knows either, just that when the other slips through her window and presses her index finger to her lips, she goes instantly and obediently silent. Thursday nights are a ritual of the worst and the best kind at once.


_Kelena, M. Set in Season 2ish. Human!Elena. Vaguely and bloodplay if you're weird about that sort of thing. Katherine being Katherine. You know how it goes._

_This is my second birthday porn fic for Kelsey powerlesbian because she's 21 now that makes her a complete fucking adult you go Kelsey four for you._

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**between the edge and the falling**_  
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They're back here again. She's not quite sure what draws them but she doesn't think she knows either, just that when the other slips through her window and presses her index finger to her lips, she goes instantly and obediently silent. In normal life, in normal relationships, she'd fight for control. Self-determination is her calling card. But right in this moment, her bedroom is as removed from the real world as if it's another planet. This is their world, their quiet escape where there aren't any rules, because rules would make it all come crashing down. It's too frail to survive questions or investigation. All they have is each other and their silence.

"So." Katherine has a small bag slung over her shoulder. She doesn't, usually. She usually comes to Elena's room without anything, unburdened by the outside world. "I brought you a present."

She sits up, swings her legs out of bed, and gives up trying to pretend that she was sleeping. Katherine shows up when she wants, kind of like a cat, but it's always somewhere between Thursday and Friday. Elena wonders how much even that small regularity pains her. Privately, she's grateful for it. She doesn't know what she'd do if her nerves hummed with anticipation every night. Would it become regular? Would Katherine actually have to start waking her up again, like she did those first few nights? Or would she be perpetually exhausted? All Elena knows is that somewhere between sundown Thursday night and sunup Friday morning, Katherine appears and they forget that they hate each other. "Oh?"

"Oh. You ought to be more appreciative." Reaching into her side bag, Katherine draws out what looks like a mass of scraps. Well-made, possibly expensive scraps, sure, but Elena's still trying to figure out what they are right up until the moment they hit her in the chest. She catches them without much effort.

Up close, it's obvious that the _present_ her doppelganger brought consists of pretty lingerie, of the kind that might be seen in a suggestive black and white photograph. Definitely not the kind of thing Elena usually picks out. This is all form over function, which she can appreciate. It's just not her usual choice. "They're nice."

Katherine scoffs. "I know they are. You're welcome, say thank you, put them away." She lists off her demands with such authoritarian arrogance that for a moment Elena wants to defy, not because she cares particularly about fighting but just so that Katherine knows she can't be told what to do. They crossed that bridge long ago, though, and a thanks pops out of her mouth as she stands to stash them in her drawer. She already knows without thinking about it that she'll never use them with Stefan. That would be too much. These are from Katherine's world, for her world.

Silently, Elena returns to her position in front of her duplicate. As she's learned to do, she strips. First her tank top and sleep shorts, folding them and setting them on the floor. Then, her bra. Finally, she pulls her panties off, down over the length of her legs until they hit the floor. Those are the crown of her little pile, clothes discarded, waiting to be of service again.

She tells herself she doesn't have a choice. Katherine is stronger than she is, faster than she is, able to rip her life away in a second. Katherine is wild and impossible to tame. What Katherine wants, Katherine gets. If Elena didn't concede, she could just hurt her, rip her arms off so easily. Or compel her. That, too, would be an easy trick. The thought allows Elena to push away the shivers of lust lancing through her as she kneels, the inevitable knowledge that Katherine, whatever else she may be, would not force this on her. Not this far. But she is human and frail so she has to go along with it. That is Elena's saving grace. That prevents her from realizing just how far she has fallen.

"Nice." The monster who wears her face purrs. "Very nice. You're learning, aren't you?" She lifts the strap of her bag off her shoulder, slinging it over Elena's desk chair, and examines her. Though there's not a thing more she could take off, Elena suddenly feels even more naked, as though her very soul is being pried apart for Katherine's inspection. "You're missing the art of it, though. It's like a chore. Are you trying to chase me out, Elena?"

"Yes." As though there's another answer she could give. As though she'd ever concede, ever tell Katherine that her presence, as oppressive and uncertain and monstrous as it is, gives her some level of comfort. Elena has not yet sunk so far. She is not yet such a puppet that Katherine can pull any string at all and she will dance.

"Liar." Katherine doesn't even consider it, tosses the word away like offal. "Look at me, Elena." As if against her will, she complies, her chin raising to drink in the sight of herself. But not her. Katherine holds her body differently, with an ancient self-assurance, and Katherine curls her hair and Katherine smirks like she knows all the answers and she's never going to tell you any of them. It's really nothing like looking in a mirror, but Elena's still afraid to recognize too much of herself in what she sees. "Watch."

Katherine peels away her clothing like she's unwinding herself from a lover. Her heels go first, toed off to the floor (how does she climb a building wearing pumps?), followed by her shirt. Like a whole separate entity, her waist snakes with the removal of her top, peeling away from her skin with sinuous grace. The fabric drops carelessly, elegantly to the floor, none of the ritual that she insists Elena use. But it's so very Katherine, all seduction and destruction in the same action that Elena's breath catches in her throat.

It only gets worse from there. She could have sworn that her room wasn't this warm five minutes ago, but maybe it's just the flush heating up her skin, crawling over her entire body as she watches long fingers snap the button of jeans. She's not dancing, doing nothing showy, but she still manages to make the removal of her clothing, the inevitable descent of her zipper and the incremental baring of her legs – they're identical, why should this have such an effect on her, Elena desperately questions – into a painfully erotic experience. Her bra falls away to reveal pert breasts, strap spiraling down one arm to be caught and dropped. Katherine prowls over to Elena, bends down so their faces are on a level, save that she's still inevitably over her, above her, in the position of power. "That's how you undress."

"That's how _you_ undress." Despite her defiant words, Elena's voice shakes a little, and Katherine pulls away carelessly.

"Learn. I know you liked it." She taps her nose lightly. "I can smell it."

Blood suffuses Elena's cheeks, staining them dark red as humiliation floods the pit of her stomach. She's not usually ashamed of her own sexuality, but then Katherine takes everything usual and flips it on its head. Usual has no place here. Especially when she keeps doing this thing, keeps playing this game with Katherine despite knowing how very wrong it is.

Ignoring her sudden flood of emotion, the way her eyes turn down, Katherine keeps playing. This is the kind of game where the ball can't fall, where they have to keep up this world because it shatters all too easily. Even if she gives Elena most of the responsibility for balancing, she knows she has to at least carry some of it. That is what has Katherine pulling Elena's chair away from her desk, sitting down in it and looking imperiously beneath dark lashes at her doppelganger. "Come."

Elena doesn't crawl. That, at least, Katherine can't make her do. She can't make her so utterly debase herself that she's on hands and knees, propelled forward like an animal. Rather, she stands and approaches with a few strides, stopping far enough away that she doesn't loom. Even with Katherine's head below hers, she still undeniably wears the crown.

In a flurry of movement too quick for her to follow, she's face down into her own desk. Katherine stretches her wrists out in front, winding a piece of fabric around them like manacles. When she moves away and Elena gets the chance to look up, she realizes she's being restrained by a pair of panties. "Don't rip them," Katherine orders. "You are in quite significant trouble if you do."

Trouble with Katherine is never a good idea, as Elena discovered the first time she got into it, and she takes care not to move too much, letting the cold desk press into her chest, her nipples puckering from an unholy combination of arousal, fear, and pure physiological response. It takes so little, so very little for her own mirror image to have her on edge. Katherine plays her like a fool, like a well-tuned instrument. And she, shamefully, allows it. (She's just human and Katherine is vampire).

Those quiet moments drag on forever, until Katherine's hand finds the small of her back. She might as well close her eyes, seeing as the only things to look at are the desk or the wall in front of her, but somehow Elena can't stop herself from keeping them open. As if she'll know better what comes next if she does.

Katherine bends over her, every curve of her body pressed into Elena's. They fit together almost perfectly, like folded pieces of paper. Her own breasts are soft on Elena's back while her hands cup Elena's, rolling the nipple between two fingers in a way that makes Elena tense, try to pretend it isn't affecting her quite so much as they both know it is. "There's no use lying to me." Katherine's palms run down Elena's stomach, slowly enough that she drags her whole body along in the motion, kiss-bites imprinted upon her doppelganger's spine. Elena shivers at the ghost of breath across her skin. "Everything you feel, every reaction you have. I know before you do, even." Her fingers reach Elena's cunt, sampling the moisture there at the same moment as she stands again. "I don't need to test to know you're wet. That you want me. It's in the air, it's oppressive. I can practically taste it."

The ache of Elena's teeth in her lip is suddenly so sharp she has to let go, clamping down with every word Katherine speaks combined into an undeniable pressure, impossible to maintain without breaking her skin. Even if she wants to, her mind resorts to self defense above all things. This is her last refuge, this silence against Katherine's words. She'll be made to cry out eventually, she knows, some sort of cover placed over her mouth because one time Jer came in and asked if she was alright. No was the answer, but Katherine told her if it ever happened again, her brother would be included whether he will or no.

"Don't scream." Katherine presses her lips to Elena's shoulder, their bodies meeting again for just an instant before her fingers begin slow, lazy strokes on Elena's clit, the kind of motions that tell her unequivocally that this will not be rushed. It's enough to make Elena tremble, enough to make her want, to need relief, but it's not enough to get her there. Just to keep the lust burning in her.

The wall is so very bland and maybe she should have drawn on it when she was a child, just to break it up, because staring at absolutely nothing and waiting for the next motion of the unpredictable woman behind her is the worst kind of torture. Not quite as bad as the time Katherine blindfolded her, though.

Sudden coldness falls upon her back, the touch so thin Elena's not quite sure it's there. She feels like a ghost touches her, slight caresses. "Katherine?" she whispers, shamefully wanting reassurance.

The cold flashes and for a moment Elena feels nothing before the sting begins. Heat replaces cool, the product of her own veins, and even she can smell the tang of blood in the air. Fear, real fear, balloons in her chest, but as she wriggles to try and see what Katherine's up to she inadvertently grinds her clit against Katherine's fingers in a sensory overload compared to the light touches she'd been provided. "Shhh," a hiss sounds in her ear. Katherine's body lays atop hers again, holding her down, rooting her back in sensation. "This isn't different from last time. It's the same. Don't fight, Elena. You're going to be fine."

A circle of wet heat blooms on Elena's back where Katherine attaches her mouth. The motion of her lips, slowly sliding down the thin cut she just drew, makes Elena shiver. There's something painfully intimate about it, even if Katherine isn't sucking. She doesn't seek to bring out life, just to take that which is already there, spill it. The depth and skill of the cut mean everything, Elena knows. It might be little more than a red line, or it might be far more serious. It's hard to focus when she's bent over her own desk, though, nipples hard peaks and the touch on her clit so ghostly that it only frustrates her more.

The knife comes down again, and again Elena doesn't even feel her flesh tear, just the ache a moment later and the soothing heat of Katherine's mouth. She's rolling her hips against Elena's ass and the mortal girl feels a string of slickness on her own thigh, her cheeks burning as she gets even wetter. Even with the ministrations of Katherine's hand, the clenching and the fire in her lower belly, she has no way to hide, to deny that she's getting off on this. It's low and it hurts and she likes it.

With the next three cuts, Katherine takes her time, running her fingers down the inside of Elena's thighs, suckling on the back of her knee – it's startling how much that makes Elena quake, moaning so loudly that she has to bite her own arm to keep herself silent. She intersperses the pain with pleasure, commingling the two as though they're one and the same. When she makes the last cut, her lips find it with a groan and this time Elena can feel the vacuum as Katherine sucks her blood out of her body. She arches her back. It's not enough to make her feel woozy, and combined with the increased pace of Katherine's fingers on her clit, demanding a surrender she hadn't been quite ready to give, Elena's trembling, almost undone, her legs shaking as mindless sensation cuts into her.

Stimulation cuts off abruptly. Elena gasps at the unfairness of it, at the total injustice of Katherine's retraction of her hands, her heat, leaving only exquisite frustration at unfulfilled sexual desire. The olive toned curve of Katherine's hip comes into view, tempting Elena to bite it as her reflection examines the tensile strength that her binding retains. "I told you not to break them," she reminds, even though they aren't ripped, aren't damaged. "Focus on that. I'll decide when they come off."

Exhaustion might be setting in about now, was Elena's sexual tension not unbearably high. Instead, she's about to snap at Katherine, about to be annoyed at her because she's as taut as a bowstring and though the orgasm itself has receded somewhat, the need for it burns as brightly as ever. Her harsh words are cut off, though, when Katherine wrenches her off the desk, spins her and drops her bound hands over her head so that they stand in a parody of an embrace.

"Clean me off."

"What?" Still caught up in her own thoughts, it takes a moment for Elena's mind to catch up to the reality of the situation.

"You heard me." Katherine remains unflappable. She gestures to her chest, to the all too inviting planes of her exposed skin and to the jagged bloody lines crossing it. For a moment, Elena wonders what has happened. Vampires can't be hurt. Only when she realizes that it's her own blood does she begin to feel faint. There's more of it than she assumed, making her wonder how much she's lost. "Clean me off. With your tongue."

The taste of iron dimmed as the blood dried, leaving behind only the faintest shadow, but it still tastes wrong on Elena's tongue. She plays vampire to herself and finds that she doesn't like it. However, she does like the fisting of Katherine's fingers in her hair and the sighs that are propelled from her lips by a force greater than she can control. Elena loves this moment where she can drag her tongue over Katherine's nipple and feel her predecessor respond, feel the answering ache in her own wanting body. Even if it's only within the scope that Katherine permits, she gets to lead here. Her bound hands plant on Katherine's lower back, giving her leverage as she kneels and pressing their skin together so intimately that even with her duller human senses Elena can smell arousal. The trail she's licked down Katherine's torso shines, and she bites just below her navel. It's not entirely unexpected, the buck of her hips in response, pushing them both impossibly closer together.

In a movement as quick as the one previous, Katherine melts out of Elena's forced embrace, forcing her to her feet and bending her back over her desk, this time with her hipbones jammed into the wood, elbows bent awkwardly so that she can fit in the space and still not rip her ties. Again deprived of her ability to watch, Elena shudders when a single finger tipped with a nail she'd hate to have inside her scrapes down her cleft.

"You're wetter than I thought." Katherine chuckles, low and intimate. "Into the blood thing, Elena? Maybe there's some vampire in you after all."

Elena buries her head between her arms, her pussy obstinately grasping for a purchase in thin air at the taunts. Wrapped up in herself, she doesn't notice Katherine's absence until it becomes a distinct presence again.

Penetration happens in a vicious stroke, Katherine grasping Elena's hips. Unprepared for the sudden stretching, she cries out as her hips jerk forward. Even self-lubricated the intrusion hurts if only at the abruptness of it. From zero to sixty, so very Katherine. Her grip on Elena's hips is unforgiving, using the leverage to fuck her hard. The silicone wakes a whole different set of nerve endings than external stimulation. Already close, Elena finds it nearly impossible to swallow her cries, to keep from thumping into the desk (they're already making a little bit of rhythmic noise and she's terrified someone will wake). She's surrounded by Katherine, completely at her mercy. Her fingers claw on air, legs shaking like they're not sure if they can keep her up because she's so fucking close and –

Katherine changes pace. From shallow, uncompromising thrusts she slides into long, deep and slow, the kind of fucking where people look into each other's eyes and end up lovemaking somewhere halfway through. This isn't lovemaking, it's torture. Elena's looking down at a desk or at her bound hands, and Katherine's tracing patterns from her breasts to her clit, always stopping just shy of the nerves themselves. Startled by the new tempo, Elena's body readjusts, her orgasm still so close she can't think, doesn't think she could speak even if she tried, but maddeningly out of reach.

Every time she thinks she might get to come, Katherine devises some new form of torture, changing her pace or stopping entirely or pulling out and running the head of her strap on down Elena's slit, circling it around her too-sensitive clit in a way that makes Elena keen thoughtlessly. She's shaking, exhausted, barely able to hold herself up. Sweat beads at her hairline and the ties of her wrists, wicked away anywhere else by the coolness of the room.

When Katherine stills for the final time, withdrawing, Elena's hips continue to buck on nothing at all. "Katherine!" She's not sure if she's angry or pleading, but whatever it is seems to do the trick. The elder thrusts in between Elena's legs again as one hand comes to her clit, rubbing hard.

Even without Katherine's nonverbal permission, Elena thinks she might have come anyway, out of pure need, because it's past two in the morning and she doesn't know how she's going to handle school tomorrow but it's so much better this way. Her whole body shakes, cunt clamping around the strap on and head bowing practically to her chest, legs all but giving out as her orgasm sweeps through her, destroying everything but the mindlessness of pleasure.

She collapses the moment it's completely over, knees bending, sliding off the desk and onto the floor where she puddles, spent. Katherine tells her to stand but she's knock-kneed, dizzy. If the goal was to blow her away, shatter her mind as well as her body, Elena thinks it can be counted as a success. She's still trembling.

Looking up, Elena realizes that her doppelganger's comfortably ensconced herself on her bed, dildo pointed upwards like some bizarre trophy. Without even bothering to clean it off, Katherine lowers herself onto it. Fascinated, Elena watches the dark-hued silicone disappear into a body that looks exactly like her own. It's as if Katherine's swallowing the instrument whole, the shine of her own wetness added to Elena's. She's mesmerizing as she fucks herself. Head tilted back, eyes closed and mouth parted ever so slightly. Katherine's chest rises and falls with habitual breathing, the darkness of her nipples a mesmerizing draw, but not quite so much as her cunt, the swirl of her fingers over her clit and the shudder of her thighs, her entire body, when she hits the right spot. In unabashed and complete ecstasy, her dark hair tumbling down her back, Katherine is easily a goddess of sexuality. Unbidden, despite her satiation, Elena finds her hand between her thighs, stroking her own hypersensitive clit as she watches the punishing pace at which Katherine fucks herself.

Katherine's back bows impossibly far as she comes, but Elena's eyes flutter closed as her own unintended orgasm, an aftershock of the first but no less potent in its ability to briefly black her out, washes over her. When her eyes flicker open again, it's to meet the amused elevation of Katherine's eyebrows. "Didn't think you had it in you," she comments. "Have you thought about how you're going to get back into bed after that?"

It's a challenge, and Elena refuses to back down. Though her limbs are both trembling and heavy, like weights she cannot support have been hung from them, she hoists herself to her feet, stumbling as knock-kneed as a baby giraffe into her bed. She would faceplant on the covers, but refuses to give Katherine the satisfaction. By the time she pulls herself into bed properly, dragging the now-cold covers over her still-burning skin, Katherine is dressed down to those shoes Elena still doesn't know how she can scale houses in. "See?"

With a laugh, Katherine rolls her eyes, sliding her instruments – blood encrusted and wet as they are – back into her bag. "Goodnight, Elena." She smiles a predator's smile, teeth flashing white in the dark. "Don't forget my present… see you next Thursday." She disappears out the window as easily as she came, somehow managing to close it behind her.

Elena's eyes flutter shut. She's not quite sure what draws them together or why they're playing this unwinnable tug-of-war, but for the moment she's too tired to think about it. Sleep crashes over her in an undeniable wave. There'll be time to feel guilty in the morning.


End file.
